


Found/Tonight

by wrote_and_writ



Series: Random Fandom Twelve Days of Stories: Nice Series [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 23:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: Yes, I am one of those idiots who uses song titles/lyrics for fic titles. I love and accept myself as I am.Part 5: Christmas Eve





	Found/Tonight

He’s not sure how long he walked the streets. Maybe he was always walking. Maybe he would always be walking and never arriving. London was big enough. And if it got too small, he could go to Canterbury. He rather liked the idea of being a pilgrim, not that he had any faith in things that awaited pilgrims.

Tonight, however, he walked the Victoria Embankment, west from Blackfriars Bridge to Westminster, cross the river, east, cross again, and repeat the circuit. He kept his eyes ahead of him, just focused enough so he didn’t trip into any pedestrians or over any tourists, who were still out in force even though it was Christmas Bloody Eve and snowing and cold as balls.

He sighed. He’d been spending way too much time around Muggles if he picked up that charming bit of lingo, however appropriate it might be in that moment.

“For someone who doesn’t appear to want to be found, you’re doing a terrible job of hiding, Draco.”

Draco froze. Hermione Granger walked another two paces before she turned around and offered her arm. He took it without thinking and found he was glad of the anchor of warmth she created for him. 

“Have you gotten through my list of top 100 movies?”

“No,” he admitted, curious as to where the usually forthright junior minister was going with this.

“Well, darling friend, if you had made it down to number sixty two, you would have seen Say Anything and somehow found a vintage boombox -- see the movie,” she said when he opened his mouth to interrupt, “and you would have found at least _one_ better way of getting Harry’s attention than hoping to bump into him in London while you look like the saddest sadkins ever to sad.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Hermione squeezed his arm and smiled. “Something Rose taught me. I find it quite evocative.”

“Shouldn’t you be home with them?” Draco asked, grateful for a chance to change the subject.

“We’re going there now.”

Draco stopped dead on the pavement, ignoring the curses, muttered and louder, he elicited. Hermione pulled him off to the side, next to a monument to some Muggle war dead. 

“I’m taking you home for Christmas dinner, Draco. Harry will be there, of course, but so will all our friends, about twelve mad children, and possibly Luna’s new corgi, which she is convinced is the steed of a fallen fairy, and honestly, you can’t possibly believe I was going to let you wander out here on Christmas.”

“Hermione, I--”

“Have punished yourself long enough. So has Harry. Whatever happened between you two at Halloween, it’s making you both miserable, and it’s making us miserable, and we have a lot more to think about.” Hermione pulled him in for a hug, and Draco let himself be held. “We aren’t seventeen anymore, Draco.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like I’ll ever get beyond that,” he said, grateful that he couldn’t see her face.

“Which is why you are going to call that therapist,” she replied, squeezing him tight. She leaned back and stroked his arms. “No excuses. Luna and Neville worked really hard with Madame Pomfrey to create that network of therapists working with St. Mungo’s.”

“Hermione, I--”

“Can’t wait to try the new recipe I found for bacon-crusted roasted sprouts. I know, right?”

“What is it with Muggles and bacon?” Draco asked, smiling in spite of himself. “Do you know Padma made me try chocolate covered bacon? Said I had to because she couldn’t, as a vegetarian, try it but she was dying to know what it was like?”

“And,” Hermione asked, taking Draco by the arm and leading him on to the nearest portkey, “what was it like?”

“Greasy, salty chocolate,” he said, disgustedly. “It was wonderful.” 

They walked in companionable silence for several blocks as Draco wrestled his emotions into some semblance of control. They reached the portkey, a blue plaque in a dark alley that proclaimed “Here in 1875, Look, You Don’t Actually Care, Mate.” Hermione was about to touch the plaque when Draco stopped her.

“Draco --”

“No, I’m coming,” he said. “Can we stop by my flat first? I have to pick up something. A gift.”

Hermione smiled. “Of course. But we have to hurry, or else the mulled wine will be gone by the time we get there.”

Draco kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Always.”


End file.
